Hardly A Child’s Tale
by Dancho
Summary: Every night Yuffie waits for Vincent. Not happy. Rating for safety, but it's still a hard TPG13.


Title: Hardly a Child's Tale

Author: Dancho

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

Disclaimer: Own nothing… I live in a box and wear a barrel.

Type: One-Shot.

Rating: M (R)

SHIPs: Vincent/Yuffie; Yuffintine

Summery: Every night Yuffie waits for Vincent.

Time: Post-series or Alternate Universe, whatever you prefer.

Warning: Vague sex scene, physical pain, ANGST. Can't say anything else without spoiling, but the rating is high for safeties sake. Written in present tense, which normally drives me crazy, so I don't know why I'm using it.

* * *

It hurts. Everywhere. Not a sharp pain, like you feel when you are cut. Of course, sometimes, by accident, he does cut me, but I quickly heal myself. This is different. This is a dull ache that reaches down to every muscle and sometimes, if he is more rigorous than usual, my bones ache as well. Only time can remove the aches from my body. I've come to expect it. Every time he comes, I ache for days afterwards.

I know he can't help it, so I don't tell him that he hurts me. I'm pretty sure he doesn't know, doesn't suspect. No one else knows and I manage the pain quite well, going about my duties as usual. However, he never comes too soon, never returning when the ache remains and, on occasion, he even waits a few extra days, leaving me some time free of pain. Not often though and I wish that he wouldn't. I miss him more than I hate the pain. I can take the pain, withstand the suffering. If I could, if he would, I would see him every night, every day, pain or not. I guess that's love.

But I don't tell him how much I want him to stay, how I hate to see him leave, how I used to cry when he left. No, that knowledge would only act to trap him. Not that it could work. He's not a bird. I cannot keep him in a cage for my amusement. He's a shadow, always out of reach, wild and free. Any attempt to capture it kills it. I guess knowing that is love too. Hardly a child's tale.

Sighing, I get ready for bed, pulling off my clothes and putting on my sleepwear. I leave the window open, just in case, but I know he wouldn't be returning tonight. In fact, he doesn't return for a week and I'm almost afraid he wouldn't come back. Almost.

I'm asleep when he arrives. I always am. But I wake quickly when I feel his hands on my shoulders and his lips on my neck.

I moan and slowly open my eyes. He looks up at me, his red eyes shining in the dark. I can feel his metal arm graze my side and I groan. So close, so close to nicking the skin.

"I missed you, Vincent," I whisper and he kisses me. He is in a hurry tonight and doesn't waste much time teasing me. I love how he feels above me, and I cling to him. I usually participate more fully, but tonight his actions are more desperate, so I let him take control. "Oh, God! Vincent!"

I can feel him inside me and I lean in to kiss him again.

"Yuffie," he whispers, his hot breath rushing past my ear, causing me to shudder. He shifts a few times and soon we find our usual rhythm. His thrusts are more forceful that usual, and it almost hurts. I feel his claw dig into my skin, letting tiny one-drop rivers of blow flow down my back. I wrap my arms tighter around him and pull myself closer; so close there isn't any space between us. As I reach my climax, I hold on to him, tears in my eyes. I've been crying more and more often during our lovemaking.

Part of me wonders if I am getting too old for the pain. I am aging much faster. I look almost twice my age already, but I'm not surprised. My youth was hard, and I did not expect to look like a child forever. But I quickly dismiss these ideas of crying from pain, knowing the real reason.

"I love you," I tell him when he's finished and he looks me in the eye, his face blank and empty. I tell him this every time he visits, but he never responds. I like it that way. I prefer silence to lies or platitudes.

* * *

I sit outside her room and pull out a cigarette I stole from last night's lover. Lighting it with one of the few spells I can perform, I look back at the sleeping woman and take a drag. I should probably feel bad about what I've done, but I can't. Just the way life is. Besides, I tell myself, I'm doing her a favor. She'd be so lonely without me.

I'm going to have to stop coming soon, anyway. Every time I come, I take more and more from her. I can't help it; she gives so much. It's just the way she is. But soon, she will have nothing else to give me.

I wonder if she knows that her lover is dead. That he did not abandon her of his own free will. That I am not the man of her dreams. Sometimes I wonder if any of my lovers know my true nature or that of my sisters and brothers. I doubt it. Not many believe in us Incubi and Succubi.

But this woman; I'm not so sure about her. I imagine, at times, that she can see through the image of her lover I place on myself. I feel that her eyes can cut through me and see my true form. But it's probably just that. My imagination and feelings; both mer ghosts when compared to the abilities of real, full humans. I very much doubt she really understands. There is, after all, a difference between knowing and accepting.

Grinding out the cigarette, I get to my feet and leave the house, my hunger satisfied.


End file.
